Dynasty: A Mafia Collection

by Jen Davis

  She jumped out of her car and stalked toward the trailer set up on the side of the property. Robby stood right outside the door, scribbling on his clipboard.

  He looked up when her foot crunched into an empty water bottle. “Hey.” The grin spreading across his face quickly died when he caught her expression. He advanced down the three wooden stairs to meet her. “Is everything okay?”

  “Is my brother here?” She winced at the hard edge to her voice. It wasn’t Robby’s fault her brother had pissed her off.

  “I’m sorry.” He toed over some sawdust on the ground with his suede work-boot. “I sent him to go pick up some supplies. Can I give him a message?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten in her head. “Ask him to drop my license off in my mailbox before he goes home.” She breathed deep. “Please.”

  “Sure.” He backed up the steps without turning around. “I’ll go write up a note for him now.”

  Great. She’d chased away a perfectly nice guy who had only been trying to help her out. Spinning on her heel, she considered a dozen ways to get her brother back for being a pain in her ass. Putting sugar in his salt shaker. Signing him up to Hair Club for Men. Filling his shampoo bottle with Nair.

  Plotting her ideas for her revenge, she didn’t even look right in front of her. Until she stepped into a wall of broad chest and black cotton. The impact almost knocked her back, but two expansive hands wrapped around her upper arms and steadied her.

  She recognized Brick without even seeing his face. She had an awareness of him she couldn’t quantify.

  Her body softened in his grip.

  Those hands. She wanted them everywhere.

  Her knees threatened to give out from the nearness of him.

  “You’re better off staying far away from me.”

  She locked her legs and steeled her spine at the memory of his rebuke at the bar. “You can let me go now.”

  The cords of his neck tensed. Then, he released her and stepped back, giving her a full look at the man who’d been plaguing her thoughts for days now. A dusting of stubble shadowed his jaw. His brown eyes searched hers and tightened as if he had found something he didn’t like. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  He gave every indication of genuine concern. His hand even reached toward her—for a second, anyway—before he clenched his fist and dropped it to his side.

  Here comes trouble.

  Because, oh yeah, he wanted to touch her.

  A tickle of excitement swept up her spine, and all the irritation she’d carried a moment before dissipated like a flash summer storm giving way to gentle breezes and blue skies. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip before flashing a wicked smile. “I am now.”

  Bold as brass, she swept her gaze over his powerful arms and muscular chest. “I didn’t find what I was looking for, but I definitely like what I see.”

  Brick’s jaw dropped, and it would have been downright funny if she wasn’t so busy basking in her sass.

  Something kept this guy from pursuing her, but it sure as hell wasn’t a lack of chemistry. More convinced than ever, she decided her first read on Brick Barlow had hit the bullseye. The attraction tugging her toward him went both ways.

  She winked—WINKED—before gliding past him, her arm brushing his on the way to the car. She had no guarantee he would watch her leave, but she put an extra sway in her step just in case.

  Let him see what he was missing.

  She didn’t think about her brother or her missing license again the entire drive home.

  ***

  Brick

  Brick pushed thoughts of Olivia and her surprise appearance at the site out of his mind as he pulled his truck to a red light. Robby said she’d been there looking for her brother. It had nothing to do with him. Even in his head, she had no place in this sewer he called a life. Especially when he was on the job.

  His other job.

  He had to break in one of Sucre’s newer thugs tonight.

  Tre had been roughing up guys for the boss about a year now, but this would be his first kill. He looked a little too excited about the idea.

  “What’s your favorite way to do it?” The recruit asked the question for a second time, and Brick didn’t plan to give him any more of an answer now than he did before.

  The first time he’d ever taken a life, he’d thrown up on the floor right next to the body. No one knew, but the truth didn’t need any witnesses. Marty Zimmerman’s dead eyes still haunted him to this day. Marty had only been sixteen years old, but at the time, so was he. Sucre had given him no choice. It was kill or be killed.

  He’d spent half his life as a killer, and he didn’t enjoy the job any more now than he did then. His body grew bigger, and with practice, he’d become more efficient. He definitely didn’t throw up anymore, but he had no favorite way to kill somebody. It was simply what he had to do to keep his grandmother alive.

  Sucre’s crew grew with each passing year, and with it, so did his reach. He also had back-up plans and schemes in place designed to survive even if someone ever took him out. Knowing the consequences of the man’s wrath gave Brick all the motivation he needed to do his job.

  Somehow, he thought it would be different for Tre. He’d bet a hundred bucks the kid had a boner right now.

  They headed back to Pete’s place. The junkie had come up with a little cash to buy himself a few days, but now the clock had run out. If he had any kind of sense, he’d be nowhere near his apartment.

  Then again, no one with sense borrowed money from Sucre.

  Tre practically vibrated in the passenger seat of Brick’s truck. “Maybe I’ll slit his throat. Whataya think? Or maybe slice open his gut and pull out his intestines. Send a message.”

  He ground his teeth. There was no one to send a message to; everyone in the neighborhood already knew what would happen if they crossed the boss. This was simply the required follow-through. It didn’t matter if it got messy or not because no one would ever see it.

  “We’ve gotta dump the body when we’re done, Tre. You understand, right?”

  Tre shrugged and glanced out the window. His knee bounced a mile a minute. “Yeah, I know. It’s the principle of the thing. A man’s got to take pride in his work.”

  A man. He almost rolled his eyes. Tre couldn’t be more than nineteen. Breaking people didn’t make you a man. It made you a monster.

  He pulled into the parking lot and cut the ignition. “This is your show, Tre. I’m only here to make sure it doesn’t go south.”

  Tre grinned widely, showcasing the shiny gold tooth where his upper left incisor should be. His remaining white teeth were a sharp contrast to his dark brown skin. “I got this, bro. One day they’re gonna say my name with the same kind of respect they say yours.” He whistled the opening strains of “Time is on My Side.” Sounded creepy as fuck.

  Tre elbowed him in the side, but with no force behind it. “You like? I heard it in an old Denzel movie once. Thinking about making it my signature song. People hear me coming, they piss their pants.” He repeated the same notes over and over, anticipation building on his face.

  Fear was not the same thing as respect. Tre would learn that one day when he realized no one invited him to their kitchen table. No one wanted to introduce him to their family. No one wanted him near their kids.

  It was a lesson learned only through experience.

  He followed Tre’s strutting form across the blacktop. Tonight, the cracked pavement was deserted, like something on the wind warned away even the natural predators who called this place home.

  Tre kicked in the door without even trying the knob. “Mother fucker!” He swiped at a rickety lamp, sending it flying across the room. It landed about two feet from Pete’s body, which now sprawled out on the living room floor. The junkie lay in his own filth, covered in vomit with a needle still hanging from his arm.

  He thanked the dead man silently for doing the job himself. It actually happened far more often tha
n Sucre knew. At least a third of his hits ended up foiled by suicides or overdoses where he only had to clean up the mess. Dead was dead. He got the credit either way.

  Tre didn’t share his pragmatism. “Goddamn pussy.” He shook his head. “At least we don’t have to deal with the body now.”

  The kid wasn’t thinking this through. “The fuck we don’t. We can’t let people think they can escape Sucre with an O.D. He’s got to disappear, like anyone else would. Otherwise Sucre looks weak. You look weak.” He didn’t explain they’d have to punish Pete’s family if word got out he had killed himself. No way would he touch the guy’s little girl, who by some small mercy was noticeably absent from the apartment.

  Thankfully, Tre didn’t have the smarts or experience to figure it out himself. Otherwise, he would’ve probably been chomping at the bit to find another target. “Shit, man, you’re right. Thanks.” The kid surveyed the room. “Where do we start?”

  “We start with a tarp.” He pulled the black, folded, plastic sheet from the backpack he carried on all his jobs. “We roll him up. Get him out. And leave the rest for the rats.”

  ***

  Brick didn’t realize he’d hoped to catch a glimpse of Olivia at the construction site again the next morning until he recognized his pang of disappointment when he didn’t see Will with the crew. In fact, only a handful of the guys were there when he arrived. Even stranger, he saw no sign of Robby, only Kane and Matt.

  He didn’t know Matt very well. The guy kept to himself, did the work, went home. He was black—clean-cut, twenty-five or so—and he usually wore a nice T-shirt or polo tucked into his khakis. Today, he had on a bright green tee with a pocket over his heart. He appeared to be a much safer man to be around than Kane with the biker’s arms sleeved in tattoos and the scar cutting across his cheek. But appearances could be deceiving. Matt could be a church deacon or a serial killer, for all Brick knew.

  Kane wandered over as soon as Brick climbed out of his truck. “Crew’s split today. The company won a last-minute bid on a big place in Decatur.”

  “So why didn’t they put another team on it? Xander’s not the only foreman they’ve got.”

  Kane gave a short nod. “True. But he’s the best.” He lifted one shoulder. “And since we’re his crew, we’re the best, brother. So, they want us.”

  Hard to argue there. Splitting everyone up would slow down both jobs, but at least everyone had stable work for a while.

  They planned to finish up the subflooring so they could get started on the walls. It was his favorite part of any build. It warmed him seeing the bones of the house taking shape.

  Matt nodded as they joined him on the slab. They all worked in easy silence until about eleven-thirty when Kane called for a lunch break. “Guess we’ve got no pizza today. Tell me what you want, and I’ll run over to the deli around the corner.”

  “I’ll go,” Matt said mildly, the first words Brick had heard from him in months of working together.

  Matt took their orders and stuck the cash in his back pocket as he walked to his car.

  Kane stroked his beard. “I saw you talking to Will’s sister the other night.”

  Fuck. He carefully blanked his face. “Sure. She seems like a nice girl.”

  Kane laughed…a rich, full-belly laugh. The man never did anything halfway. “You want to play it low-key? She’s a nice girl? So you wouldn’t mind if I hit that? ‘Cause you see, I think a pretty little thing like her would taste like honey between her legs and—” He stopped talking and grinned when Brick started growling.

  Fucker. He pushed the noise down in his throat and ground his teeth together.

  “I thought it would take a little more work to get you going.”

  He narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like being played. “She’s not for me.” He held up his hand before Kane could start talking again. “She’s not for you, either, man. Olivia deserves someone better than the likes of us. Someone whose hands are clean.” His were black as tar.

  Kane’s mirth disappeared like it had never been there. “I hear you, but the girl couldn’t keep her eyes off you, brother. And you can be sure Will noticed.”

  “So? He’ll get over it. There’s nothing happening.”

  “Brick, you need to pay closer attention to the folks around you. I thought you were supposed to be this badass ballbreaker. How do you survive if you don’t bother to read the room?”

  So much for their silent understanding to pretend their outside lives didn’t exist. He poked at a small hole in his jeans. “I didn’t think I had to worry about that kind of shit out here. This is my escape, man.” He didn’t realize the truth until the words came out of his mouth. He wished he could stuff them back in.

  But Kane proved far too perceptive. “Yeah. I get it. I’m just saying be careful with Will. Dude’s on parole after a ten-year run in Reidsville.”

  He did a double take. “For what?”

  “Don’t know, but I doubt it was for jaywalking. I saw him having it out with your girl after you walked away from the bar. Watch out. Whatever is going on with you and his sister, he doesn’t like it.”

  A bead of cold sweat tingled down his spine. He didn’t worry about his own safety, but could Olivia be in danger from her brother? Nah, he couldn’t miss their easy affection when she brought the cookie cake last week. He shook it off. She’d be fine. She didn’t need him sticking his nose into her life and fucking it up.

  She did need him to keep his distance. “Message received. Will’s got nothing to worry about because nothing’s going to happen with me and his sister.”

  Kane nodded sympathetically. “No matter how much you want it to.”

  No matter how much he wanted it to.

  Chapter 6

  Liv

  Liv’s muscles screamed with every step down the school hallway. A few of the kids noticed how she hobbled around and got a good laugh out of it.

  Her arms had felt like Jell-O the night before as she’d forced them through another round of mock punches. Her third Krav Maga class had been no easier than the first. If anything, she’d struggled even more because every muscle in her body burned from the last workout.

  But she had something to prove, didn’t she? Her body couldn’t hold her back anymore.

  Bright and observant as he was, Devon didn’t miss her pitiful movements. He shook his head with a quiet laugh as she shuffled to the smartboard.

  She hadn’t had a chance to talk to him one-on-one since his unsettling analysis in class last Wednesday. This week, though, he acted more like himself again. He could have been having a bad day. Everyone gets melancholy from time to time. Now he was back to sporting his killer smile, flirting with the girls, and more than ready to discuss the reading of 1984.

  She still had things to talk to him about. He probably didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life—he was only a junior—but if he played his cards right, he could get a full scholarship to any school in the state. He was smart, worldly, and quick on his feet. Her mission before the end of next year would be to help him channel his gifts into a stellar ACT score and an unforgettable college application essay. If she could convince him to go to college in the first place.

  She stopped him after class before he could make it out the door. “Hey. You got a second?”

  He nodded to his friend, Justin, before turning back to her. “What’s going on, Miss Turner? Everything okay with my essay?”

  She gestured for him to sit down and cocked her hip against her desk right in front of him. “Have you given any thought to the summer ACT prep class I told you about?”

  He shrugged lazily. “Nah. Those tests aren’t for me.” He slouched in the chair, affecting an air of nonchalance she didn’t believe for a minute. “You should be talking to Terese about this stuff.” The girl who always took a front row seat in class was his only equal in smarts.

  “Terese has already taken her ACTs, and she’s working on applying for early admission to Mercer Universi
ty. This isn’t about her. We’re talking about you.” She pursed her lips. “Devon, you’re one of the brightest students I’ve ever had. You can do anything with your life. If you do well on your ACTs, you can go to college on a scholarship. You can study whatever you want. Be whatever you want.”

  His shoulders tensed, and he sat up in his chair. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but my family needs me here. College isn’t in the cards.”

  “There are schools right here in Atlanta—Georgia Tech, Morehouse. I don’t know your family situation—”

  “It’s complicated.” He rubbed his forehead.

  “Family can definitely be.” She knew firsthand, but at least Will and Iz had always put her future first. “They can be infuriating and frustrating, and they can also surprise you sometimes. Have you talked to them about this?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then you don’t really know for sure how they’ll react. Maybe there’s a way to give everyone what they need. I’d be happy to talk to—”

  “No.” He smacked his hand on the desk, knocking a pencil to the floor.

  She took a step back, and Devon shook his head ruefully.

  “Look,” he softened his voice. “I know you mean well.” He rose to his feet and walked to the door. He stopped without turning to face her. “But give me some space, okay?” He didn’t wait for her answer before disappearing into the hallway with his friend.

  Damn.

  She packed up her things at half-speed, replaying her conversation with Devon. She knew nothing about his family situation, but she would find out. Tomorrow, she’d meet with his guidance counselor, see what he knew. The end of the school year was right around the corner.

  In the meantime, she wanted a drink.

  The minute she stepped into her apartment, she dropped her bag and went straight for the good wine she usually reserved for weekends. Parking her ass in one of the kitchen chairs, she took a generous sip. Any second now, it would do the trick.